Big improvements in everything on Saturday morning. Sarah no longer has a crippling headache and she's able to get up, have a crap breakfast and be out the door for 10.30am. Why? Its the FA Cup final today and, in thanks for me being an awesome boyfriend, Sarah has proposed us going to the English Pub to watch it. I wasn't about to disagree.
A brief update on passports and whatnot: we haven't been on the phone to HMPO for a week now. Instead we have sent and received some curious bits of correspondence. Firstly we have been in talks with Rev McCrea's constituency office who have been helping us find out information that we, as the applicants, are apparently not to be told via email. Curious. Secondly I have finally received a response from the Complaints Department in Newport acknowledging receipt of my extensive report and that it has been passed on to another department for investigation. Thirdly, I replied to the letter we received from Durham Processing Office, another comprehensive email with numerous queries regarding the application for passports overseas. We have received in response an email politely pointing out that the Overseas Passport Application process is not suitable for people in our situation and that we really should have just gotten Emergency Passports and come home. Lovely. Pity that that sort of frank advice has not been available to us any point in the past two months. I cannot wait to start dealing with this when we get home. Anyway, they know that I'll be in touch when I get home, as does everyone, and its going to be long, difficult, and incredibly fun.
So instead of worrying about these things today we go to the pub and I have the first pint of the day and eat a fry whilst surrounded by Arsenal fans. Why are there so many gooners in La Paz? They all have shirts and everything! To be fair no one gets too ratty when we cheer on Hull's goals, though they do look a little self-absorbed by the finishing line and, for some unclear reason, give Wenger a big round of applause. We break up the day having a nice chat with some kids from Leicester who join our Arsenal-hating.
What to do then but wander the streets of La Paz in and out of pruck shops and see the same crap we've seen for the past six weeks at endlessly varying prices? This is 'old town' La Paz, dissimilar to our side of town. Lots of tourists, lots of brightly coloured blankets and statues and wooly llamas and pipes and hats and gloves and scarves and football shirts (all fake) and sex tea and playing cards and day trips to Noted Historical Sites. There are, however, hardly any bars and many more coffee shops.
Naturally I buy a fake football shirt of one of La Paz's famous football teams, The Strongest (yellow and blacks stripes in tribute to 'ull all well). The other team, Bolivar, seem pretty well represented on the streets, plenty of folk wearing their sky-blue shirt or tracksuit top.
As with every day in La Paz it is very pleasantly warm in the sunshine and becomes achingly cold as the day dies and the night edges in. We stalk back to the hostel for another quiet night. We have not been party animals on this trip. I could probably count the number of times we've been in a pub in the evening on one hand. Maybe two. Anyway, we settle down for another quiet night, except that we now have noisy neighbours in the hostel. Still, with a tasty burger from Chely's Cafe, a mere thirty seconds from our front door, accompanied by a wee tin of Pacena, we watch more crap tv and pass out in the not-too-distant future.
A brief update on passports and whatnot: we haven't been on the phone to HMPO for a week now. Instead we have sent and received some curious bits of correspondence. Firstly we have been in talks with Rev McCrea's constituency office who have been helping us find out information that we, as the applicants, are apparently not to be told via email. Curious. Secondly I have finally received a response from the Complaints Department in Newport acknowledging receipt of my extensive report and that it has been passed on to another department for investigation. Thirdly, I replied to the letter we received from Durham Processing Office, another comprehensive email with numerous queries regarding the application for passports overseas. We have received in response an email politely pointing out that the Overseas Passport Application process is not suitable for people in our situation and that we really should have just gotten Emergency Passports and come home. Lovely. Pity that that sort of frank advice has not been available to us any point in the past two months. I cannot wait to start dealing with this when we get home. Anyway, they know that I'll be in touch when I get home, as does everyone, and its going to be long, difficult, and incredibly fun.
So instead of worrying about these things today we go to the pub and I have the first pint of the day and eat a fry whilst surrounded by Arsenal fans. Why are there so many gooners in La Paz? They all have shirts and everything! To be fair no one gets too ratty when we cheer on Hull's goals, though they do look a little self-absorbed by the finishing line and, for some unclear reason, give Wenger a big round of applause. We break up the day having a nice chat with some kids from Leicester who join our Arsenal-hating.
What to do then but wander the streets of La Paz in and out of pruck shops and see the same crap we've seen for the past six weeks at endlessly varying prices? This is 'old town' La Paz, dissimilar to our side of town. Lots of tourists, lots of brightly coloured blankets and statues and wooly llamas and pipes and hats and gloves and scarves and football shirts (all fake) and sex tea and playing cards and day trips to Noted Historical Sites. There are, however, hardly any bars and many more coffee shops.
Naturally I buy a fake football shirt of one of La Paz's famous football teams, The Strongest (yellow and blacks stripes in tribute to 'ull all well). The other team, Bolivar, seem pretty well represented on the streets, plenty of folk wearing their sky-blue shirt or tracksuit top.
As with every day in La Paz it is very pleasantly warm in the sunshine and becomes achingly cold as the day dies and the night edges in. We stalk back to the hostel for another quiet night. We have not been party animals on this trip. I could probably count the number of times we've been in a pub in the evening on one hand. Maybe two. Anyway, we settle down for another quiet night, except that we now have noisy neighbours in the hostel. Still, with a tasty burger from Chely's Cafe, a mere thirty seconds from our front door, accompanied by a wee tin of Pacena, we watch more crap tv and pass out in the not-too-distant future.
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